


It's Growing On Me

by Profrock



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, Plantboy Phil, Sexting, Strangers to Lovers, fanboy Dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6356008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Profrock/pseuds/Profrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Dan runs an aesthetic shitpost blog and Phil runs a famous aesthetic plant blog. One day, Phil follows Dan back and they get to talking...</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Growing On Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi okay yes I'm not dead I swear. Okay, so this was soooo much fun to write, like okay wow yes and I love this au tbh.

“Dan, Dan – no, don’t put glitter in your – Dan, don’t fucking – Dan, holy Christ I hope you’re cleaning that shit u- DAN!” Chris sighs exasperatedly, blowing a put-upon sigh that causes a fine dusting of glitter to fly from the table to the carpet. Chris sighs again, but more carefully this time.

 

My breathing is checked, shallow as to not disturb the mountain of silver and pink glitter I just dumped into my coffee. I finally get a picture I like, leaning back and pocketing my phone before finally allowing myself to giggle.

 

“I hope you’re ashamed of yourself and what you’ve done,” Chris grumbles, sipping his not-glittered coffee with a look of immense distain aimed my way.

 

“If you’re gonna shitpost, do it with a grin,” I retort, scrolling through the filters on my phone. “Which do you think is better, Sierra or X-Pro 2?”

 

“A nice thick lens of sulfuric acid perhaps,” Chris answers with a straight face. “Maybe I’ll soak my contacts in some tonight.” I perk up. “Can I use that for a picture?” Chris groans again, turning around and muttering something about “fucking aesthetic” before flopping down on the couch and glaring at me over the rim of his mug. He takes a long, determined sip, holding eye contact to make _absolutely sure_ I know just how disappointed in me he is.

 

I blow him a kiss, picking up the coffee mug full of glitter and walking to the bathroom to pour it down the bathtub drain. I know from one rather unfortunate, wet, and expensive experience that glitter doesn’t go down the kitchen sink drain especially well.

 

I sink down onto my bed as I hear the opening music to some anime I can’t exactly remember the title of, the dramatic music sequence making me feel like there’s something I’m supposed to be doing with my life but desperately ignoring. I flip open my laptop, groan at the 14 percent battery life, and begin the always-dreaded expedition around the flat to hunt for the bloody charger. When an entire two minutes of searching yield nothing except for that one sock I though I had lost three months ago, I resort to drastic measures and steal Chris’ from his room.

 

Comfortably wedged in that perfect spot between my pillows that will probably end up giving me scoliosis by the time I’m twenty-seven, I click open the requisite fourteen Chrome tabs and can all but _feel_ my wasted years coming back to haunt me in the nursing home.

 

My chosen method of wasting time as I hurtle quickly towards inevitable death is tumblr. Something about the sense of urgent immobility of hundreds of millions of people screaming into the void has some appeal to me, I guess. Oh, and the porn, obviously. Chris calls me obsessed, which I would fiercely argue if it wasn’t so true. I follow almost three thousand people, so it’s entirely possible for me to wake up in the morning, open my laptop, and scroll tumblr until midnight with breaks only for snacks and the toilet.

 

I would say I have a life, but that would be a lie. My social circle is limited to about ten real-life people, to three of whom I am related. A few friends from Uni and an old childhood friend who I try to see every couple of weeks just about exhausts the contacts list on my phone.

 

Online, however, I like to think I’m a god. In reality I’m a kid with a blog, but you’d be lying if you says you don’t have a god complex at twenty. Go on. I dare you.

 

Granted, fifty thousand people (discounting all of the spam blogs and bots) following _me_ , a stupid British kid with a posh accent is just ridiculous. It barely makes sense. I started a tumblr nearing three years ago because I wanted to post all of my artsy emo photos, how was I supposed to know that pictures of me combing yellow paint through my hair and setting fire to a copy of Ray Bradbury’s _Fahrenheit 451_ were going to get hundred of thousands of notes in less than a month?

 

My aesthetic has changed somewhat over the years, gradually shifting from “maladjusted emo art hoe” to something more along the lines of “gritty and glittery moral philosopher with a penchant for existential depression” or, as I like to title myself, “your problematic fave.”

 

My fingers are typing a blog name into the html bar by muscle memory before I really know what I’m doing, the soothing soft pastel blue/white background of my favorite blog loading quickly.

 

All I really know about Plantboy, the admin of the titular blog, is that he is: one, British; two, completely obsessed with plants and flowers; and three, hot as fuck. I scroll through a handful of plant posts, pictures of ivy creeping up linoleum walls and olive branches adorning pale wooden desks before I stop lying to myself and pull up the blog’s search bar, entering a tagline: _is a pale hoe._

 

The page reloads and I grin, already feeling the arousal start to build in my gut.

 

I pause for a moment, my hand resting on my fly, listening. I hear high-pitched giggles and girls speaking in Japanese, meaning that Chris is snuggled comfortably into his couch crease with anime and chocolate and no one will be un-snuggling him with anytime soon with anything short of a JCP. Finally deeming it safe to wank without having to get up and lock my door, I shove my laptop onto the comforter beside me and wrestle with the button and zip of the black skinny jeans I regret having put on that morning, pushing them down and around my ankles.

 

My eyes trace hungrily over the first picture as my hand begins to rub slowly over my cock through my underwear. On my screen I see his pale neck and torso, littered with purple and red marks I ache to trace with my fingers and tongue. I scroll with one hand, the other reaching into my boxers to stroke my half-hard cock.

 

Pale skin on paler sheets, red lines and purple marks standing out in dark contrast are a welcome sight to my hungry eyes, and my breathing hitches on an over-the-shoulder shot, my fingers desperate to tangle in the dark hairs brushing the nape of Plantboy’s neck. His arse is fabulous, smooth and pert and _delicious,_ my eyes tripping slowly over the perfect curve of his spine.

 

My hand is a blur over my cock, my breath catching and hips twitching as I rub the head on every upstroke. The familiar heat pooling in my gut climbs and climbs.

 

My orgasm is rather unexpected, pushed suddenly over the edge by a between-the-legs shot of Plantboy’s huge cock, resting thick and heavy in his hand. I stroke myself through my orgasm with a drawn-out groan, imagining his cock fucking deep and hard into me.

 

“Dan?” Chris calls from the lounge as I pant heavily, reaching for tissues to clean myself up. I wince. “Yeah?”

 

“You okay man?”

 

I lean over, dropping the used tissues into the bin beside my bed. “Yeah, just spilled some Ribena on the carpet!”

 

“Sure,” Chris hollers back, amusement thick in his voice. “Ribena.”

 

“Shut the hell your mouth,” I warn, pulling on a fresh pair of boxers and sweatpants before moving back to my bed.

 

“Love you too!” Chris hollers, and I hear the muffled crunch of a crisps bag from the lounge. I resituate myself against my pillows and grab my laptop, my thumb accidentally pressing the trackpad and liking the picture of Plantboy’s dick.

 

_Fuck._

 

I quickly click the heart again, unliking it, and click to a new tab, reopening tumblr to my dashboard.

 

My inbox glows red with unread messages, so I open that and read a few of them, answering a couple with my trademark sass and bad grammar. The number of people online who seem to take me seriously is quite alarming.

 

A small movement in the bottom right corner of the screen catches my attention – a notification. My eyes flicker involuntarily over it, the tiny blue box with a plus indicating a new follower next to a url that I never in a thousand years thought would follow me, and my heart bungee jumps out of my chest, hitting the soles of my feet before bouncing back up to get stuck in my throat.

 

**_Plantboy_ ** _started following **danisnotonfire**_

 

I scream.

 

“So you finally caved and bought a vibrator or you’re getting horrifically murdered, either way I don’t wanna see it, do I?” Comes a yell from the lounge. Deep down, beneath all of the snark and salt, I know Chris cares about me.

 

“Fuck you!” I holler back, clicking to my followers page. Sure enough, at the top, Plantboy glows typed in bold, next to the icon I could recreate from memory better than anything else.

 

I smother my giggles and screams with my hands, flailing, before shoving my face into my pillow and silently shrieking. So. This is happening.

 

After a few more minutes of staring blankly at my screen, I notice my inbox glowing with a ‘1’. I click on it.

 

“Hey!” Plantboy’s message says. My brain shorts out again. “I love your blog and I’ve been stalking it for like the last 5 hours! Just wanted to tell you that you and your blog are awesome, okay I’ll go now.”

 

I shriek again, a loud, high-pitched whine from emitting from between my clamped lips. Chris appears at my doorway. “Mate, are you okay, Jesus Christ.”

 

“Fine,” I say my voice about three octaves higher than usual. Chris leans against the doorjamb, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Uh-huh…”

 

I’m shaking with excitement, too wound-up to be put off by Chris’ apathy. “You know Plantboy? The admin of the plant aesthetic blog I heavily stan?”

 

“You mean the one that resides somewhere between Batman and Kanye West on your ‘Would Murder the World to Meet’ list? Yeah I’ve heard of him, once or twice.”

 

“Your humor is dryer that my sex life Chris, you’d live if you toned it down a tad.”

 

Chris fake gags, stepping over to the edge of my bed and flopping down next to me, hooking his chin over my shoulder. “So, what did the god amongst men do now?”

 

“He just followed me.” I can hear Chris’ eyebrows raise from where he is perched over my shoulder. “Really? Nice, dude.”

 

“And,” I say dramatically, pausing for effect. Chris blows into me ear. “You motherfucker,” I hiss, swatting him away and hunching m shoulders over my ears, glaring at Chris with obvious mistrust. Chris flicks my nose, a lopsided grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

 

“I hate you,” I sigh, shuddering with the gross tingly feeling that shoots down my spine. Chris presses a sloppy, wet kiss to my cheek. “Nah, you love me.”  
  
“Right now I really don’t,” I mutter, flicking my glare back to my screen. Chris cuddles up to me again. “Sorry. What were you on about before?”

 

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” My eyes probably light up with how hard I’m fangirling inside. “He sent me this message, just now.” I fidget while Chris reads it, picking at my fingernails. _Why the hell is this making me so nervous?_

 

“Nice,” Chris says with a cursory nod. “So, as your soon-to-be best man, is there anything I need to know for the ceremony, like are we doing a colour scheme, or –“

 

“I fucking hate you,” I say, hitting Chris in the face with a pillow. My cheeks are burning.

 

Chris laughs as he walks out of the room, blowing a kiss and shouting “remember, what’s put on the internet stays there forever!” as he makes his way back to his anime. Fucking roommates and their asshole tendencies. I throw the pillow after him, ‘humph’ing when it flops uselessly into the hallway. I can’t be assed to pick it up.

 

I click the ‘reply’ button, my fingers hovering uncertainly over the keyboard for a few moments before beginning to type out a reply: “im yELiG??? senpai noticed me???”

 

Nice.

 

I allow my self a self-satisfied nod, clicking to scroll a little ways through my notifications and obsessively check if my number of followers has increased. Fifty thousand seven hundred twenty-six. Also nice.

 

I click back to my dash, rolling my neck and settling back to prepare for hours of scrolling.

 

A new post by Plantboy is the first thing I see, and I have to force myself to ignore the sudden, overwhelming urge to chuck my laptop across the room and fling myself out of a window that is now building up in my chest.

 

The photo is of white rumpled bed sheets, pale pink rose petals and glossy green leaves strewn over a page of cream-coloured paper that read ‘kawaii in the streets, senpai in the sheets’ in elegant, flowing letters. My heart is racing faster than NASA’s wifi, and my face feels hot.

 

I make a joke post, complete with time-stamped screenshots of both mine and Plantboy’s posts and stock photos of scientists.

 

_moments after i made this post, @Plantboy made this post….. coincidence? i dont think so!!!!1!1_

A message comes through. Not an ask, but a message. From Plantboy. “ _Damn…You saw right through me… :/”_

After allowing myself a few seconds of silent screaming and flailing, I respond: “ _im yellING”_

His reply comes within seconds. “ _What? Why?”_

_“bc ive been heavily stanning u for like the last 3 months and now ur talking to me and i dont remember selling my soul but im kinda glad i did.”_

I drum my fingers on my trackpad, regretting what I’ve said as soon as I’ve said it. Am I being too forward? What if I scare him off?  


“ _Oh, I know,_ ” Plantboy responds. My breath catches in my throat. “ _I’ve been seeing your notifications for a while (lol was that creepy? Sorry!)”_

 

I let out the breath I don’t even know I’m holding, settling back with a comfortable smile settling over my lips. Yeah. This is definitely the start of something. What exactly, well, I have no idea.

 

*

 

 _“ughhhhhhhhhhhh,”_ I type into my phone with one hand, the other entirely occupied with shoving a handful of crisps into my mouth. “ _the app keeps crashing whenever i open ur thread :/”_

 

I’ve been talking to Plantboy for about seven hours by this point, the sun having long set outside of the apartment’s big bay windows. I had migrated onto the living room couch at some point around the two-hour mark, the promise of food outweighing my crippling laziness. I hadn’t moved since, except to get more snacks. I wiped my greasy hand on my jeans, sighing and turning over. The movement pulled the charger out of my phone, forcing me to flop one hand over the side of the couch in a blind hunt for it, eventually hauling it back up and shuffling closer to the edge of the sofa so I could plug my phone back in. You see how hard my life is.

 

“ _I know right, the mobile app sucks,”_ Plantboy respond moments later. “ _Here, just text me: 4743346.”_ I smile warmly up at my phone, switching to the messaging app and typing in the number. I save it under ‘ _Plantboy’_ with a leafy branch emoji.

 

I only manage four hours of sleep before I need to wake up for my ten-a.m. Criminal Justice class.

 

*

 

“Ooooh, Howell’s got a boyfriend,” PJ sing-songs, bumping me with his shoulder as we walk across the campus. I roll my eyes, but the blush seeping across my cheeks betrays me. Traitor.

 

“Oh, come on,” PJ scoffs, rolling his eyes to the high heavens. “You’ve been texting non-stop, even _during class_ , for the past week. The last time I saw you so enamored with a person, it was Jason, you know, the guy you _fucked on my couch_ while my sister was visiting.”

 

“Don’t remind me of that twat-biscuit,” I groan, reaching in my back pocket for my vibrating phone.

 

“See?” PJ asks. “Who’s this… _Plantboy_ and how can he make your face do that happy thing?”

 

“He’s a friend and fuck off,” I say, tapping out a reply before sliding my phone back into my pocket. It buzzes again not a moment later, with just a row of emojis. _God_ do I love that boy.

 

“See? You’re grinning like a love-struck fool,” PJ says, pushing me lightly. “Fuck off,” I mumble again, without conviction.

 

PJ smiles knowingly but fucks well enough off, launching into some long-winded monologue about Why Dr. Kensen Sucks and Creativity Can’t Be Quantified Into A Grade, Especially By Such A Righteous Asshole. I listen along dutifully, my mind swirling with dark hair and pale skin and potted roses on marble staircases. _Holy crap_ am I fucked.

 

*

 

“ _why do we even need a batman v superman movie when we all kno deadpool is the clear winner here”_

_“supermans an op twat and batmans just cool bc his villians”_

_“which batman villain r u go”_

_“…”_

_“yo plantboy”_

_“m8 whered u go”_

_“senpai notice me”_

I frown at my glowing screen, sliding it back into my pocket with a huff.

 

Chris is out at the library, leaving the apartment unreasonably quiet and empty. I turn over on the couch, taking my phone out of my pocket out of habit.

 

Sixteen lives into Crossy Road later, and I’m bored again. I flick back to my messages, wondering whom I can annoy to entertain me. I open Plantboy’s thread out of habit, staring at the messages I had sent before.

 

I sigh, flopping back.

 

_“come on why arent u answering my txts r u wanking or smth?”_

_“lol jk”_

 

I groan, tossing my phone onto the chair across the room, sliding down and off the couch with a draw-out noise. The carpet is itchy and smalls like soil and feet, but I press my face into it anyways.

 

My phone chimes and I perk up, retrieving it from the chair it landed on. Plantboy responded with a single sentence, one that killed my breath in my throat: “ _What if I was?”_ I huff half of a laugh. We’ve always been slightly inappropriately sexual with each other.

 

“ _woof,”_ I text back, with an eggplant emoji.

 

I once heard what I think is the best piece of advice possible to give: _You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it._

 

And after all, it only takes me five to type out a three-word message.

 

“ _… can i see?”_

The grey bubble with the three dots appears, and I don’t realize I’m holding my breath.

 

My phone vibrates once, a short, staccato buzz, and all the blood in my body floods towards my crotch so fast I feel lightheaded.

 

I never really thought I’d call a dick _pretty_ , but Plantboy’s is; pale and thick and long and I just _want._

 

“ _daddy hello”_ I text back with the three drops emoji, all but running to my room and shutting the door behind me. _Hell no_ I don’t want to be wanking on the couch in front of the bay windows and all of Manchester.

 

“ _Yeah? Do you want me, baby?”_

My cheeks are burning as I type out a quick “ _god yes”_ before going back to wrestling with the button and zip of my jeans. I manage to get them open and down, sitting on my bed to kick them off my ankles.

 

 _“jesus fuck i wanna touch you so bad”_ I type out, situating myself up against my pillows with my bare legs spread. “ _have ever since ur pic came across my dash”_

_“Yeah? What do you want me to do to you?”_

 

I take a deep breath before beginning to type.

 

_“i want u to hold me down, those expert hands working me over as you fuck me so hard i cant remember my own name”_

 

It takes a few moments for Plantboy to respond. “ _So you’re a sub, huh?”_

_“yeah?”_

_“Good.”_

I shiver in anticipation.

 

“ _God, so many things to do, how can I even pick one to begin?”_

I clasp my cock in a loose fist, stroking with my left hand and typing out a message with my right.

 

“ _doesnt matter. well have more than enough opportunities to do them all”_

“ _In that case, I want to edge you, get you so close and only allow you to come once I say s , once you beg me for it.”_

  
I let out a little, involuntary whimper, and my hand speeds up a little bit.

 

“ _are you touching yourself? i bet you are.”_

_“yeah”_

_“come on. get your fingers inside of yourself. imagine its me, pressing them into you”_

I scramble in my nightstand drawer for my lube, squeezing what is probably an obscene amount onto my fingers but I really can’t be assed to care at this point. I settle onto my back and slide two fingers into myself, hissing and moaning at the stretch.

 

“ _god fuck its so good yes please”_

 

“ _yeah? You like that? Wanna be on your knees for me, my hand between your shoulder blades holding you down as i ruin you?”_

 

I scissor my two fingers and groan, my hips beginning to thrust back onto my hand of their own volition.

 

_“god fuck i want u inside me plz i need it”_

_“how about you ride me. Thatd be hot having you shaking and moaning on top of me, one hand wrapped around yourcock and the other around your throat.”_

 

I’ve dropped my phone onto the sheets beside me by this point, needing my second hand to furiously tug at my neglected cock. My hand is a blur over my cock and inside myself, the sultry messages pinging through my phone only bringing me closer to the edge. I crack my eyes open and read, a whimper escaping my lips with every new scenario Plantboy feeds me.

 

_“can i hold your hair as im fucking into u from behind, bent over the table in your kitchen so all of Manchester can see, can look into the window and know how much of a slut u are for me, all for me”_

_“i wanna tie u to the bed and blindfold you, do whatever i want until ur a shaking, moaning mess beneath my fingers”_

 

“ _fuxk yes plz”_ I type back with one hand, missing the ‘send’ button three times before finally managing to send it. My abdomen seizes and I let out a choked-off cry, shaking and stuttering as I come onto my own hand and stomach so hard my vision bleeds black at the edges. Fire sings through my veins, burning out to warm, lazy relief.

 

I come down slowly, my limbs heavy and sluggish and my eyelids threatening to slide closed. I eventually manage to groan and heave myself up far enough to grab a few tissues to clean myself up, falling right back onto my covers once I’m done. I lay there, just breathing, for a few minutes longer.

 

I eventually pick up my phone, staring at the last message Plantboy sent me. I tap out a three-character message: “ _…_ ”

 

“ _What?”_ Plantboy asks. “ _Is something wrong?”_

 

 _“what are we?”_ I ask, suddenly desperate. This _couldn’t_ have just been a one-time thing.

 

I wait with bated breath for what feels like years. “ _Can I see your face?”_ Plantboy finally answers back. I try to ignore the pit that opens up in my stomach. I click the ‘details’ button. _Video call?_ Yeah.

 

He picks up after two rings.

 

“Holy shit,” he whispers, eyes flickering across my face. “You’re so beautiful.”

 

I smile bashfully, ducking my head. I have no idea where all of this sudden humility has come from, but it’s not fucking welcome here.

 

“Eh,” I say flippantly, soaking in Plantboy’s gorgeous blue eyes, as deep as the sea and broad as the sky, his dark, dark hair that hangs shaggy yet sexy into his eyes, his cheekbones that are probably sharp enough to _cut diamond_. “I’ve seen better.”

 

He laughs, loud and bright, his eyes scrunching up in the most adorable way possible and his hand coming up to cover the fact that his tongue sticks out of the side of his mouth a little bit.

 

I’m fucking _gone_. I can’t even _begin_ to think about how fucking soft and lovey my eyes must look.

 

Judging by how lovey Plantboy’s are, I’m going for very.

 

“Why hello Dan,” he says, and his voice is like whiskey on ice. A little nasal, but it suits him somehow. “Would you like to maybe give this whole dating business a go?”

 

So what if all I can muster up is a flustered nod? At least it’s something.

 

*

 

“Okay, Dan, seriously, who it he? Who’s this mystery man?” PJ bugs me, sticking his socked toes under my thigh. I swat him away, still grinning stupidly down at my phone. PJ pokes me harder with his toes.

 

“Come one Dan,” he whines. “It’s been, like, a month and a half. Please?”

 

I groan and roll my eyes, waving PJ off. He huffs but backs away, looking down at his laptop screen and mumbling.

 

“Three days,” I say. PJ looks up, confused. “What?”

 

“You can find out who he is in three days,” I say, looking up at him. “By the way Chris doesn’t know this yet but he’s going to want to stay with you that night.”

 

PJ hikes up an eyebrow. I grin back at him.

 

“ _Hey! So with how everything works out I can come up to Manchester in three days and stay for at most a week (aka however long it takes you to get bored of me >.<”_

_“soooooo… u mean ur staying forever? k im cool with this”_

_“Stop making me blush like a damn fool in public I have a manly image to protect.”_

_“ah yes the gay boy with pastel aesthetic blog such manly much masculinity”_

_“Don’t patronize me!”_

_“love ya too”_

“I’m both excited and concerned,” PJ said, looking at me. I blushed, looking up at him.

 

“I can give him the requisite speech of “If You Hurt Him I Will Find You And End You,” right? Or did Chris already claim that?”

 

I groaned, flopping over into my side, hiding my face in the upholstery. “Why do you hate me?”

 

“ _brace urself for the bbfls death threats”_

_“Oh man I am so looking forward to it what are you talking about.”_

I groan again, tossing my phone away. “Why does everyone hate me?”

 

PJ pats my knee. “Don’t worry, we don’t.”

 

*

 

“Stop shaking, holy fuck,” Chris tells me, shoving me with his shoulder. I made a face at him, bringing my hand up to my mouth and viciously attacking my thumbnail with my teeth. Damn anxiety.

 

“I know, I’m just nervous,” I say, spitting a shred of nail onto the sidewalk. An older lady walking by gives me a nasty look and a wide berth.

 

“Why in the hell are you so nervous?” Chris asks, his hand still moving in comforting circles on my shoulder. “This guy’s seen your dick already, I’m sure he isn’t going to be _that_ object to your face after that.”

 

“Shut up,” I mumble, unable to even really muster us the embarrassment. Chris notices.

 

“Hey,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me in. “It’s gonna be fine, yeah? He’ll be here any second, and –“

 

“Dan?” I hear a deep voice call from across the platform, my head whipping up at the mention of my name. It’s Plantboy, standing tall and stark in his black fringe and red bomber jacket against the monochrome crush of the crowd around him. I break into a run, mumbling half-formed apologies to the people I shove out of my way.

 

I’m aware of a feeling of weightlessness, followed by the warm impact of something soft, and warm strong arms wrap around my waist to keep me steady as Plantboy stumbles back with my legs clinging around his hips.

 

He laughs, and I can feel it reverberate inside my own chest, spreading through me like syrup, warm and sticky-sweet.

 

“When I expected a response, let me say I did not expect this,” Plantboy says, and _oh god_ his voice sounds even better in person, lilting with excitement, reverberating through my bones and I’m just burying my face in his neck and breathing him in. He smells like raspberries and ink and cotton, like summer rainstorms and _warm_.

 

 _Holy fuck,_ I think, still clinging onto him like it’s the end of the world. _I’m in love._

“Oh no shit!” I exclaim, pulling back and staring into his face. I’m close enough I can feel his breath on my cheeks, close enough to count his eye lashes if I wanted to. “I should get down, sorry, I’m sorry, I’m –“

 

“You’re fine, Dan,” Phil says with a soft grin, his tongue poking out to say hello, and my hands are cupping his cheeks and dragging him forward before I really have time to register anything else.

 

He tastes indescribable, like a sea breeze and sunrise and the first day of springtime.

 

“Fuck,” I whisper, finally pulling back for air and leaning my forehead against his. His kaleidoscope eye flicker to find mine, crossing, and I laugh, reaching in to steal another kiss.

 

“Well, that’s one more thing to add to my knowledge of you,” I murmur breathlessly. Plantboy chuckles, readjusting his grip on my thighs. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

 

“Wall sex is most _definitely_ an option.”

 

Plantboy laughs, for real, throwing his head back and shaking with it.

 

“Alright, come on, I’ve let you have your moment,” Chris says indignantly from somewhere off to my left. I roll my eyes and lean in for another kiss, ignoring as Plantboy goes bright red and opens his mouth to speak. “Um-“

 

“Don’t worry about Chris, he’s an asshole,” I mutter, moving my lips against his as I obligingly unwrap my legs from their vice grip around Plantboy’s waist and he lowers me slowly to the floor, our lips unbroken.

 

I pull back when Chris begins tapping his foot impatiently, huffing a laugh as I press one last peck to Plantboy’s lips before pulling all the way away.

 

“Hello,” Plantboy says, sticking out a hand. “My name’s Phil.”

 

“Chris,” Chris responds, taking Phil’s hand and sizing him up with a foul expression, like someone pissed in his Cheerios and he’s trying to figure out who did it. I stand next to Phil nervously, tugging the hem of my shirt as Chris finishes his apparent inspection and breaks into a huge grin, yanking Phil forward into a hug.

 

“Oh,” Phil squeaks, his hands twitching by his sides, unsure of what to do with them.

 

“Sorry,” Chris says, not sounding terribly sorry. “Dan’s made some, ah, let’s just say less-than-perfect decisions in the past, and I’ve made it my duty he doesn’t fuck up that badly again.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Phil says, looking at me with a sparkle in his eyes I can’t place, nor explain why it makes my chest constrict in the way it does. “I hope I’m not one of them.”

 

Chris grins huge, clapping Phil on the shoulder. “Nah. I don’t think so.” My cheeks flush hot and red.

 

“With the rate you’re going, we’ll see,” I mutter, hip-checking Phil lightly. He laughs, picking up his duffel bag and backpack from where he dumped them unceremoniously onto the dirty concrete and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. His hand snaked down to tangle his fingers with mine as Chris politely led us from a few steps ahead, only glancing back one to give me a bright, genuine smile and a saucy wink. I ignored him in favor of tracing the back of Phil’s hand with my thumb, determinedly not marveling about how well our hands fit together. Definitely nothing of the sort.

 

*

 

“Alrigh, I’m just gonna be, uh, going now,” Chris mumbles when Phil and I step back through the door from dinner, my nose and cheeks probably an incredibly unattractive shade of red from the nighttime chill.

 

“Just, gonna, uh-“ Chris continues muttering to himself, shuffling about the flat for his things. He reemerges from the hallway with a coat on and a backpack slung over his shoulder and a mildly embarrassed expression on his face. Phil and I exchange glances, trying hard not to laugh at Chris’s Winne-the-Pooh-like bumbling about.

 

“Just – uh, bye,” Chris mumbles, smacking his shoulder on the doorframe as he walks out of the door. “Ow,” he says mindlessly, closing the door behind him.

 

I finally allow myself to giggle and Phil joins in, slipping one hand into my back pocket and moseying closer as out laugher dies down.  
  
“Hey,” I whisper, afraid of breaking the bubble that seems to surround us. Phil smiles, pulling me closer and leaning in until his lips hover over mine, just barely not touching. My eyes flutter closed and I tilt my head, waiting, expecting.

  
“Hello yourself,” Phil murmurs, closing the gap and ghosting his lips over mine. A small sound seeps out of my lips and I blush furiously, but Phil just chuckles and kisses me again, for real this time.

 

Lips turn to tongues turn to hands, his on my hips, pulling me closer, and mine on his chest, just trying to keep myself upright.

 

 _Holy shit,_ I think as Phil pushes me and I stumble backwards until my back presses against the wall.

 

“Holy _shit_ ,” I choke out when his thigh slides between mine, pressing up. I grind back down against him breathlessly, scrunching my eyes shut and tipping my head back. Phil chuckles darkly, bringing up his thumb to tug my bottom lip from where it’s clamped between my teeth before kissing me again, teeth and tongue and hot and messy.

 

His forearms bracket my head, against the wall, his chest pressed flush to mine. Stars fizzle out behind my eyelids when he moves his lips away from mine, sucking messy kisses into my jaw and neck as he presses his thigh upwards, grinding into my crotch.

 

I’m on _fire,_ already a desperate, writhing mess from practically nothing at all.

 

“Fuck,” I gasp, grabbing clumsily for Phil’s shoulders when he rubs his thigh against me again, shaking and choking with the pleasure. “Fuck _me.”_

“You just had to ask,” Phil murmurs lowly, and if I had any more of a coherent state of mind I probably would have rolled my eyes. As it is I just throw my head back and whimper, the sound thin and reedy between us.

 

“Come on,” I groan, taking Phil’s hand and leading him through the flat to my room. The door is closed, and I have an obnoxiously difficult time getting it opened.

 

Rose petals adorn the carpet and my sheets, the strands of fairly lights I have strung around my headboard glowing softly, accompanied by an obscene number of lit candles. Romantic Italian jazz seeps out of the small Bluetooth speaker on my side table.

 

“Christopher James Kendall, I will fucking obliterate you,” I mutter under my breath, blushing heavily as Phil falls to pieces with laughter behind me. I turn around, my head ducked in sheer mortification to find him laying on the floor, trembling with the force of his giggles.

 

“That mother _fucker_ ,” I hiss, stomping a round of the room, angrily blowing out all of the candles. Phil is still helpless on the floor. “Smooth jazz!” he crows, which sends him into a whole new bout of hysterics.

 

I sit down on the bed and cross my arms, a new idea forming. As silently as I can, I strip off all my clothes, situating myself against the headboard and letting my legs fall open. I stroke my cock languidly with one hand, the other cracking open the bottle of lube Chris oh-so-thoughtfully left on the pillows, slicking up my fingers.

 

Phil’s laughter dies in his throat when he looks up, and I can hear his breath catch from across the room. He picks himself up, coming over to sit on the side of the bed and watch me , eyes flickering between my face and my hands, like he doesn’t know which he’d rather watch.

 

I let my mouth fall open now that I’ve got his attention, loving how his eyes darken and his teeth dig tighter into his bottom lips every time my fingers slide _just right_ to hit that spot inside of me that makes me see stars.

 

“Phil,” I moan the nest time I hit it, twisting my hand on my cock at the same time. I convulse slightly against the sheets, my legs trembling and each exhale a little moan.

 

“Fuck,” Phil swears, his hands twitching by his sides, like he wants to touch but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

 

“ _Phil,_ ” I moan again, louder and higher this time, my voice cutting out in the middle and coming back as a startled gasp. “Oh god, feels so good – ah, ah, _ah!”_

Phil finally snaps, his hands flashing out to touch, to smooth down my hips and chest and swat my hands away from myself. I whine at the loss of stimulation, clasping my hands together above my own head and circling my hips uselessly as Phil slicks up his own fingers.

 

My eyes fly open when a wet heat envelops my cock, crying out and jackhammering forward before flopping back against the sheets. A rose petal sticks to my bicep.

 

Phil’s mouth keeps working over my cock, hot and wet and _oh so good,_ and he does something with his tongue that if it’s not illegal it probably should be, because _fucking hell_.

 

His fingers slide inside of me and I choke out a breath, bearing down until my hips meet his hand.

 

My mouth falls open with a litany of curses and pleas and ‘ _Phil_ ’s, my mind so scattered I _so_ cannot be bothered to censor myself. Every slide of his skin against mine is pure electricity. Somewhere in my nonsensical babbling, I must have told Phil I was close, because he stops and moves his hands away.

 

“No, no, _no.”_ I convulse upwards, my fingers laced together to try and hold myself back. “Please, Phil, god, I need –“

 

“Shh,” Phil murmurs, stroking my hip. I write against the sheets. I don’t want to ‘shh,’ I want to get the fuck off.

 

Somehow, the next thing I know is that Phil is naked, kneeling between my thighs with a hand on his own cock.

 

“Mother _fu-“_ I hiss when he slides in, tipping my head back and my hips up in a wordless plea for more. I can feel every inch of him when he sinks in balls deep, flames licking through my veins.

 

It’s _so good_ , and as _too much_ begins to tip over into _not enough_ I start to move, shoving my hips back and fucking myself as best as I can on Phil’s cock. Phil groans is surprised appreciation, gripping my hips for leverage and to keep them still and sliding most of the way out, thrusting back in long and hard.

 

My hips kick unexpectedly when he reaches down and grips my cock in a loose fist, jacking me almost lazily.

 

My moans are constant by this point, my voice fizzling out whenever I try to drag in a jagged breath, only to release it in a shout of ecstasy.

 

“No, don’t– Your hand -“ I try to say, and Phil pauses looking down at me concernedly. “You want just my hand?” I shake my head vigorously, mindlessly circling my hips on his cock and gasping. “You want to come from just my cock?” I nod.

 

“ _Fuck,”_ Phil breathes out, letting go of my cock and gripping my hips, thrusting with renewed vigor.

 

“C-close,” I choke out, opening my eyes. I can see Phil’s biceps straining from holding himself up above me, the sweat making his hair stick to his forehead and trickling down his neck and chest. I lock my ruined expression with his, his pupils blown huge with lust, and I’m coming, surprisingly quiet and breathy, kicking and jerking almost violently with the force of it.

 

Phil’s eyes go even darker as come coats my chest, and his rhythm is punishing, spots dancing in front of my eyelids.

 

I don’t entirely realize the screams that I hear are coming from my own mouth, sounds of absolute pleasure I couldn’t possibly control even if I wanted to, and then Phil’s tongue is in my mouth and he surges forward one last time, his cock pulsing deep inside of me. I clench on reflex and he groans low and loud above me, his arms finally giving way and he collapses, spent and sweaty, onto my own heaving chest.

 

He pulls out gently and I gasp as I feel my hole fluttering open, tilting my hips up in a desperate attempt to keep his come from running out.

 

“Dan?” Phil asks, stroking my hip. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

 

“I need it,” I groan, crying out as I feel his come beginning to drip down my thighs, thick and wet.

 

“Need what, baby?”

 

“Your come,” I grit out, so far past caring enough to be embarrassed. Phil looks confused, then glances down, something connecting for him. He reaches down, using his fingers to gather up as much of his own come as he can, bringing his hand back up and tapping his fingers against my lips. I suckle his fingers greedily, moaning and lapping around the digits in my mouth. Phil pulls his fingers out and repeats the process, watching me with a slack jaw.

 

“Umm,” I say, releasing his fingers from between my lips and looking down, embarrassed. “Fuck, that’s hot,” Phil mutters, and I blush an even brighter red before he pulls me up to kiss him, shuddering as he tastes himself on my tongue.

 

“I fucking hate Chris,” I remark, making a half-assed attempt to brush the rose petals off of the covers before climbing underneath them. Phil giggles, following suit. “As long as you love me, I mostly don’t care.”

 

“Well, duh I do,” I say with a grin, pecking him quickly on the nose. Phil giggles again, opening his arms for me to crawl into.

 

I settle with my back to his chest, landing on top of his arm. “Sorry,” I mumble, already most of the way asleep. Phil makes a non-committal noise, shuffling himself around.

 

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” I say, my voice an octave higher than usual. “Just go ahead an knee me in the crotch, this is fine.”

 

Phil cracks up, pressing a kiss to the nape of my neck, mumbling an apology and draping his right arm over my shoulders. I hum and tangle my fingers with his.

 

“Quick logistics question,” Phil mumbles into my ear a few minutes late. I crack an eye open, twisting my head to look at him. “What?”

 

“What the ever-loving hell am I supposed to do with this hand?” he asks, waving his left hand, which is sticking up in the air at an awkward angle. I laugh, shrug, and turn back over.

 

“Dan,” Phil whines, poking me in the ear with his weirdly-bent arm. “This is uncomfy, come on.”

 

“Fine.” I heave a put-upon sigh, motioning Phil to flip onto his back. He blinks at me, confused.

 

“Turn over.” I roll my eyes, lifting his arm and settling my head into the junction of his shoulder and chest, nuzzling down until I’m comfortable. “Is this better?” I ask.

 

“Much,” Phil says, and I can hear the beaming smile in his voice. “Good,” I mumble, pulling his arm to rest across my chest as my eyes drifting shut.

 

“Goodnight Dan.”

 

“Goodnight Phil.”

 

*

 

“Dan?” Phil’s moist breath on my neck wakes me up much more effectively than his whisper of my name.

 

I groan, cracking one eye open. “The fuck you want? What time is it?”

 

“It’s two am,” Phil whispers. I groan again, determinedly snuggling back into his chest. “Then what?”

 

Phil is silent for a moment. “My arm’s asleep.”

 

“Mother-“ I sigh, rolling over and letting Phil take his arm back. “Fuck you.”

 

“Love you too,” Phil mumbles into the crook of my neck. I’m barely awake enough to hear him.

 

 _Yeah, I’m definitely in love_ , is my last thought before I’m dead to the world again.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to @lestrs-phil on tumblr for the idea!


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